


Conning Around

by springwoof



Category: Stargate Atlantis, Stargate SG-1
Genre: Crossover, Gen, Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-05-03
Updated: 2011-05-03
Packaged: 2017-10-18 22:16:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,892
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/193893
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/springwoof/pseuds/springwoof
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For the rest of his life, John would remember Rodney McKay in that damned Klingon outfit.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Conning Around

**Author's Note:**

> Spoilers for SGA Season 2, up to "Critical Mass"  
> This fic is for the amazing [Amezri](http://amezri.livejournal.com/), who wanted "John and Rodney visit a sci-fi convention." (See if you can spot her in the cameo!)

For the rest of his life, John would remember Rodney McKay in that damned Klingon outfit. He wasn’t dressed as one of the new-style Klingons, either, with their kooky bumpy foreheads, but like the old-style Klingons from the original Star Trek series, with excessive amounts of makeup, shaggy eyebrows, long mustachios, and that uniform with the horizontal stripes that made Rodney look like an overgrown, constipated bumblebee.

Said KlingonBee was currently scowling down at him--the eyebrows and mustache lent it a frightening amount of weight. “Hold _still_ , Colonel.”

John squirmed in his seat again, the order almost _forcing_ him to disobey. “But Rodney,” he whined. “The ear-things _pinch_! Can’t I go as somebody else?”

“What? Did you want to go as _Ensign Crusher_?” That mustache made Rodney’s sneer truly impressive as well. John resolved not to breathe a word about it, lest Rodney make an effort to grow a real mustache of his own.

“Rodney, perhaps he does not need the ear prostheses. His ears are pointed enough without them,” Radek crossed his arms and tilted his head thoughtfully, eyeing John’s ears.

John covered the ears in question. “Hey!” he protested.

“Doctor Zelenka is right, Doctor McKay,” said Miko, bouncing excitedly on her toes. “Colonel Sheppard looks good enough. Please, let us go now! The costume contest will be starting soon!” Miko was dressed up as a Bajoran from Star Trek: Deep Space Nine, complete with sexy funky ear jewelry. John kept wanting to reach out and touch the little chains.

“It’s Radek, John, and Rodney, Miko,” Radek reminded her with a smile. “We are not on Atlantis now, not working. In fact, we are playing. If we are playing like children, we should at least get to call each other by name as children do.” With his hair slicked back and dyed black, yellowish-green contacts, and vast amounts of pale makeup, Radek made a credible Data from Star Trek: the Next Generation.

Miko gifted him with a brilliant smile, “Yes, Radek.”

“Right. Okay, just a minute, let me check his makeup.” Rodney’s strong fingers pinched John’s chin in an almost bruising grip as he swiveled John’s head back and forth. He released the chin only to grip the back of John’s neck to hold his head still as he dabbed on yet more hair gel and applied the brush brutally to get John’s hair to lie absolutely flat and in the required direction.

Rodney stepped back and narrowed his eyes. “Okay, do the hand sign.”

John sighed and obediently raised his hand to make a vee-shape with his fingers. “Live long and prosper.”

“Not so whiny,” Rodney snapped. “Get your voice deeper.”

John blinked as a flash went off in his face. Miko was wielding the camera again. “Please, John, do the eyebrow!” she bounced hopefully.

John exchanged grins with Radek. She’d called him John, possibly for the very first time ever. Now, if he could ever get Rodney to do the same thing, this whole trip would have been worth it.

He smoothed his face to impassivity, and carefully arched one eyebrow. “Fascinating,” John intoned, trying to deepen his voice.

Miko squealed and clapped, and snapped another picture.

John grinned, anticipating when those photos would end up on the Pictures folder on the Atlantis Intranet. His dignity would be completely shot, but he’d known **that** the moment he agreed to come on this wacky trip. Morale would skyrocket, though, especially among the scientists and the geekier military personnel. As for the rest of the military personnel--hey, making fun of the commanding officer was a time-honored tradition.

He rose and clapped Radek on the shoulder. “Let’s go win the costume contest, then!”

“Oh, please,” Rodney complained as they filed out of the suite. “All we’ll be doing is blending in. We’re nowhere near good enough to win the costume contest. Did you remember your tricorder, Radek?”

***

They met Teyla in the lobby, waiting by the elevators. John had to admit that she looked very sexy in her little Vulcan ears and upswept eyebrows, not to mention the costume. He had originally wanted her to go as Xena, and she would have gone along with it, too—what did Teyla know about Earth sci-fi television characters anyway? But Rodney just had to be a little dictator and demand that their group all stick to the Star Trek theme.

The only thing that had kept John from pouting was Rodney divulging his plan to get Teyla to go as Seven of Nine from Star Trek: Voyager. But then he and Rodney had both been forced to sulk when Miko had nixed the Seven of Nine idea, swept in, and declared that Teyla would go as T’Pol from Star Trek: Enterprise.

Rodney had looked ready to combat that decision, but Radek had unexpectedly backed Miko up, and Rodney was still smarting from the smack down he’d gotten earlier when he’d tried to bully the Czech into dressing up as Chekov. One glower from Radek had been enough to get Rodney to leave Miko and Teyla alone.

The camera flashed again as Miko took another photo of Teyla in her costume. John was glad that Rodney had assigned the digital camera and its huge memory card to Miko. They’d have lots of nice photos to bring back to Atlantis. If he or Teyla had been in charge of the camera, he knew, they’d remember to take maybe five or six photos between them. Rodney would just obsessively take about fifty pictures of some extremely important--from a nerd perspective--thing from every conceivable angle, and maybe a couple of tasteless pictures of women in skimpy costumes that would get them in trouble with Elizabeth. And Radek—it didn’t bear thinking about, Radek with a camera in his hands. Nobody who knew him let him near the things. The man just didn’t have a photographer’s eye _at all._ He could have taken a snapshot of _Chaya_ , and the woman’s nose hairs would be all you would’ve ended up noticing.

John and Teyla exchanged Vulcan greeting hand signals, as Rodney had drilled them. Flash! Went Miko’s camera.

“Live long and prosper, John,” Teyla intoned regally. John practiced raising the one eyebrow again. Radek snickered. John fought the goofy grin that wanted to take up residence on his face, and lost spectacularly as Teyla switch-hit and went with the other eyebrow. Damn, but Teyla did the eyebrow thing better than he did.

“Your Earth customs are most fascinating, Rodney,” she said, totally deadpan, as she took Rodney’s arm.

 _Curses!_ thought John. _Foiled again!_ Teyla had won another round of “who’s the _real_ alien around here, anyway?”

John tried manfully to suppress a most un-Vulcan case of the giggles as Rodney and Teyla led the way into the hotel’s main ballroom for the costume contest, Rodney regaling Teyla with stories of other science fiction conventions he’d attended in the past. Miko and Radek, linked arm-in-arm with John, weren’t helping by making no effort at all to suppress their own merriment.

Oh, this had been a _great_ idea!

***

John had initially been skeptical and resistant, when Rodney had first proposed the idea at the SGC. They had just finished their various debriefings, and were due about ten days leave before the scientists were all supposed to engage in the heavy-duty recruiting tour that had brought them back to Earth. John was supposed to review a bunch of military candidates for the next few rotations, and inspect some proposed weapons systems to be brought back to Atlantis on the next Daedalus run. Teyla was supposed to go in for another round of interviews with SGC anthropologists and sociologists and a somewhat-too-attentive Dr. Jackson before she and John were scheduled for a trip to Washington, D.C., to beat the fundraising drums at the Pentagon and in front of whatever political committees that Dr. Weir had signed them up for. It wasn’t exactly something John was looking forward to.

This was why he’d been doubtful when Rodney suggested they all go on a ski trip together to Canada. Rodney had planned to visit his sister for a few days, hit the ToronCon science fiction convention in Toronto for a couple more days, and then spend the balance of the time skiing at the nice little resort in the brochures he showed them. John hadn’t been sure that he wanted to spend all his leave in Canada, and he _definitely_ wasn’t sure he wanted to spend it with his co-workers, whom he usually had to spend all his time with in Atlantis _anyway_.

Miko had been an easy shoe-in, flustered, embarrassed, but delighted at the invitation. What John hadn’t predicted was Radek and Teyla’s enthusiastic endorsement of the idea as well, leaving him as the lone stick-in-the-mud. And then there had been the look on Rodney’s face…

Which was why John was currently wandering around the dealer room of a science fiction convention in Canada in full Vulcan mufti, thankfully minus ear-pinching prostheses. Rodney had been right. Although their group’s costumes were quite good, they clearly hadn’t been in the running for any of the prizes in the costume contest—not compared to some of the really spectacular costumes at the convention. He wondered where those people got the time or the money to come up with some of the costumes he’d seen.

When the costume contest was over—and he hoped Miko had gotten some good snapshots of that really cool dragon—they’d all decided to visit the dealer room, and split up to go their separate ways, scheduled to rendezvous in two hours in the seminar area. Radek and Miko had some panels they wanted to attend, and John had decided to tag along with Rodney to see the Dr. Who blooper video. They’d figure out what to do with Teyla when they got there.

She was certainly being a good sport about the whole weird Earth sci-fi convention thing. She strolled along by John’s side, face grave and demure--a nice pair of Vulcans they made, the two of them.

“Let me know if you see anything you’d like,” John told her, waving his hand at the displays. “I’ll be happy to buy you some souvenirs.”

Teyla nodded and graced him with a small smile. “I believe if we found earrings like Miko’s, I might like to obtain several for my friends back on Atlantis. And it would be nice if we could find something to bring back for Ronon.”

“Oh, yeah, good idea,” John agreed fervently. A bad case of Athosian yellow-spot fever had kept a very sullen and unhappy Ronon back at the infirmary in Atlantis instead of coming on this trip to Earth. A little apology-and-get-well-soon gift would not go amiss.

Someone in the crowd plucked at his sleeve. “Sheppard,” the man hissed. John turned his head and frowned. “What? Hey! Colonel Mitchell? Is that you?”

“Shh! Keep it down!” said the man in over-bright cammies with a “Colonel Danning” nametag patch over the pocket. “I need you to--discreetly--come this way with me.”

John raised an eyebrow at Mitchell. “Discreet? Are you kidding? Around here?”

“ColonelSheppard, I am afraid it is a matter of some urgency.” The tall fellow looming up behind him, garbed as Grell the Robot, but with a convention badge that proclaimed he was called “Murray,” sounded just like Teal’c. John craned his neck back to check out the forehead under the heavy makeup. Okay, it _was_ Teal’c. And since he very much doubted SG-1 would have a sudden yearning to visit the very same sci-fi convention his own people were at, there was definitely trouble afoot.

John met Teyla’s eye and gestured with a subtle jerk of his head. “We’re coming, guys.”

Mitchell and Teal’c led them behind the last row of booths, past a blue curtain into an area filled with packing boxes, a large roll of plastic tarp, and a small forklift. Now that John had his mental filter set at “SG-1” he easily recognized the woman with the dark- haired wig and the “Major Monroe” patch as Lt. Colonel Carter, and the man with the chunky, black, square-framed glasses was easy to recognize as Dr. Jackson, despite the name patch that proclaimed him as “Dr. Levant.”

“What’s going on?” John asked worriedly.

“We’re sorry to interrupt your leave with your friends, Colonel Sheppard,” apologized Carter.

“General Landry got a tip that the Trust was going to attempt to capture one of your people,” interrupted Jackson abruptly.

“Wasn’t that the group responsible for the-- _incident_ \--with Colonel Caldwell?” Teyla asked, concerned.

“Absolutely, yes,” confirmed Carter.

“And they want to try to infiltrate Atlantis again?” asked John, horrified.

“Bingo!” Mitchell pointed at him and nodded.

“We are here to prevent this from occurring,” Teal’c assured him.

“I assume they wish to implant one of us with the same kind of parasite that infested Colonel Caldwell,” Teyla said. “Do you have any idea which of us might be the intended target?”

“We have no idea,” Jackson sighed.

“Could just be a target of opportunity,” said John.

“Which is why it’s important to get a hold of all of your people and get them back to the SGC, pronto,” said Mitchell.

John winced. “Aw, Rodney’s gonna give us all hell over this...”

“I agree, John,” said Teyla, frowning. “ _Must_ we end our holiday early?” she asked Carter.

“Sorry,” Carter shrugged. “I don’t see any other way to make sure you’re safe.”

“I believe our greater duty is to safeguard Atlantis,” Teyla said gravely.

“What are you talking about?” Mitchell asked.

“Simply that this is a perfect opportunity to capture those operatives from this Trust organization which seeks to infiltrate Atlantis,” said Teyla.

John arched an eyebrow at her. “You mean, since we already know they’re gonna try something _anyway_....”

“Precisely,” said Teyla. “We remain alert, and offer ourselves as...what would you call it?”

“Bait, or stalking goats, if I’m following your train of thought correctly,” interjected Jackson.

“And then _you guys_ swoop in and snatch them up when they go to make their move,” Sheppard said, illustrating with swooping and snatching motions of his hands.

“It is a bold plan,” Teal’c purred in approval.

“I don’t know,” said Mitchell, rubbing the back of his neck. “We’re just supposed to get you safely back to the SGC. If something goes wrong...”

“If one of us gets snaked, we’ll just get Hermiod to use the Asgard beam to vacuum it out of us, like he did for Caldwell. We’ll be good as new, and they’ll lose the element of surprise anyway. You might even leave the snake in there for a while, and keep an eye on the victim to see if you can figure out what they have planned,” John urged.

“Don’t say that,” Carter said sharply, shuddering. “It’s not that easy. You haven’t had a symbiote take over your body. It happened to me, and even though my symbiote was a Tok’ra, it was _still_ a very unpleasant experience.”

“Caldwell survived it,” John said stubbornly. “I think Teyla’s right. It’s our duty to protect Atlantis. If the Trust fails this time because you got us out of the way, they’ll just try again, and maybe the next time you won’t hear about it. At least this time, you’ll _know_ to watch out. And we have a good chance of capturing some of them.”

Mitchell and Carter were frowning.

“What do you say we find the rest of your group and find out if they’re agreeable to your plan or they want us to extract them?” suggested Jackson sensibly.

“Okay,” John agreed, turning to go back out into the dealer room.

“Wait, wait up! _You_ are staying here where Jackson and Carter can keep an eye on you,” Mitchell instructed. “Teal’c and I will go look for the rest of your scientists.”

John scowled and got ready to argue. Teyla forestalled him, folding her arms and commenting, “I believe it will be difficult for _you_ to convince Doctor McKay to do anything without an explanation first. If John or I go with you, you have some hope of retrieving him discreetly.”

“No, and **no**!” Mitchell insisted, ready to out-stubborn them.

Carter put a stop to the impending argument. “I think McKay will come quietly if _I_ ask him. Cam, why don’t you wait here with these guys while Teal’c and I go out there and try to locate the others?”

“Fine.” Mitchell agreed sullenly.

***

John had been right. Rodney _was_ pissed.

“Oh, this _can’t_ be good!” Rodney complained, as soon as he saw the rest of the group gathered around the forklift. He turned to Carter and aimed a pseudo-Klingon scowl at her. “You got me here under false pretences!” he accused.

Carter blinked. “I told you we needed to talk in private, Rodney. We do. There’s a situation that we--”

“I thought you meant you wanted to go make out somewhere,” Rodney grumbled half under his breath, sulking and crossing his arms in front of him. Carter began to sputter.

“Hey, Rodney, look!” John went fully into distraction-mode. “They’ve brought us real Goa’uld zat guns.” He held one up.

“That’s actually called a _zat'ni'katel_ , Colonel,” Rodney said in a superior tone as he took one from John’s hand to inspect it more closely, instantly distracted by alien technology, as John had known he would be. Carter was still opening and closing her mouth and getting a handle on her temper as Mitchell and Jackson briefed everyone, now that Rodney was here.

John and Teyla outlined their idea to the others. Radek frowned with that worried crinkle on his forehead that John hadn’t seen since they’d left Atlantis.

“I don’t know, Colonel,” Radek said slowly. “It sounds very dangerous. That--” He waved one arm towards the noisy dealer’s room floor to indicate the convention. “Is a very uncontrolled situation. _Anything_ could happen.” He made an apologetic face at Mitchell. “No matter how well you attempted to protect us.”

“But you’ll be ready for them, Radek,” John tried to reassure him, heart sinking because Radek was calling him _Colonel_ again, and he just knew he was going to lose this argument.

Miko was pale and looked equally scared and mutinous, scowling as savagely as Rodney at his worst. “I _hate_ this!” she said quietly, but forcefully, clenching her fists. “I am afraid. I don’t want a Goa’uld in me. But I hate that they ruined our holiday, too. I don’t want them to get away with it!”

“Radek is right, John,” said Rodney, looking up from his inspection of the zat. John didn’t know whether to be happy that Rodney had called him ‘John’ at **last** , or pissed that he had agreed with the other scientist.

“It’s much too dangerous for them,” Rodney went on, oblivious to John’s reaction. “They’re not trained to work on offworld teams, the way the rest of us have been. But Miko’s also right, the Trust _shouldn’t_ get away with ruining our vacation. And Teyla’s right too--” Rodney met Teyla’s eye and nodded firmly. “We have a duty to protect Atlantis. We need to do this. But we also need to keep Radek and Miko safe.”

John suppressed a sudden urge to crush Rodney McKay into the biggest hug of his life, because that would have embarrassed them both. But he made no attempt at all to stifle the broad grin that he aimed in Rodney’s direction. On Rodney’s other side, Teyla also beamed at him. Rodney acknowledged his teammates’ approval with a small smile and an arrogant lift of his chin before he addressed Mitchell. “I assume, Colonel Mitchell, that you’ve called for military backup of some kind?”

“Well, since this isn’t the United States, I can’t very well call in a squadron of Marines,” said Mitchell, sounding very long-suffering. “But, yeah, with the Canadian government’s permission, I was able to get hold of some backup for us. They’re all dressed as characters from that _Wormhole Extreme_ show.” He indicated his own outfit. “We’re trying to be as discreet as possible and not make too many waves.”

“Excellent. My suggestion is that you have Doctors Zelenka and Kusanagi extracted to a secure venue until this little problem is dealt with. Meanwhile, your team, and mine, can play ‘catch the Goa’uld.’” Rodney would have pulled off that little speech with maximum suavity, if he hadn’t turned to John in the next minute and muttered out of the corner of his mouth, “That’s a good plan, right? Don’t you think it’s good plan?”

John clapped Rodney warmly on the shoulder. “That’s a _great_ plan, Rodney! Especially since they’re gonna let us keep these little suckers.” He hefted the zat gun and waggled it. “They look like sci-fi guns anyway, so they’ll fit right in. Nobody will know.”

“Now remember, only fire that thing _once_ , okay?” Jackson admonished worriedly. “We don’t want to accidentally hurt any bystanders.”

“One shot stuns, but two shots _kill_ , McKay,” Carter said pointedly.

“I knew that!” Rodney protested. “I did!” he muttered at John’s indulgent look.

Mitchell, meanwhile, had been calling his backup, men in the too-bright _Wormhole Extreme_ cammies, who showed up shortly to take Zelenka and Kusanagi away.

“Be _careful_ Rodney,” Radek admonished, as he grasped Rodney’s shoulder. “We need you back at Atlantis. You are too valuable to lose in this venture.”

“Don’t worry, Radek. I’ll look after him,” John promised.

Radek nodded at John, the worry lines still gracing his forehead. “Yes, well, look after yourselves as well, John, Teyla.” He touched Teyla’s forearm briefly before he let himself be escorted away.

Miko just hugged them all quickly with a whispered “Be safe!” and a “You’re so brave!” aimed at Rodney that had McKay preening and bouncing on his toes as she was escorted away.

“Okay, listen up,” Mitchell drew them in with a glance when the two teams were alone. “This is the way we’re gonna do this thing--”

***

The plan had _sounded_ good, but, like all plans, it fell apart a bit in the implementation. John ducked under the punch thrown by a very big, very pissed-off Conan the Barbarian lookalike, and scrambled under the table that fronted the booth. John hoped that Teyla had taken the opportunity to get away while he distracted “Conan.” (whose convention badge, clipped to his leather loincloth, proclaimed him: “Jeff.” “Jeff the Barbarian” just didn’t have the same ring to it, though.)

It wasn’t Teyla’s fault that she’d mistaken Jeff/Conan for a Goa’uld—his eyes _were_ kind of a really pale hazel-brown. They should have realized that Teyla had never really gotten a good look at the Goa’uld that’d been in Caldwell. It’s not like they had a picture to show her how a real Goa’uld’s eyes flashed a really glowy, unmistakable yellow-gold color.

“Civilian, civilian, civilian,” John muttered to remind himself not to accidentally hurt anyone, even ol’ Jeff there, while he crawled as rapidly as possible under the table, worming his way past storage boxes and various paraphernalia from the booth—which, oops, seemed to feature souvenir swords and knives. John hoped fervently that they were plastic. Except-- _shit! There went his tricorder! Radek was gonna **kill** him!_ \--it seemed like at least some of them _weren’t_ plastic.

“Hey! You wanna put that down!” he called urgently to Jeff the Barbarian, trying to keep the display table between them. Was the guy on _drugs_ or something? Around them, a number of convention-goers were running screaming for Security, while the rest gathered around to watch, seeming to think it was an impromptu RenFest-style show.

“First you sic your crazy girlfriend on me, then you insult me, and now you’re complaining that I’m **mad** about it?” Jeff/Conan was really spitting fire there.

“Hey, listen, I’m sorry. We thought you were somebody else!” John yelled as he ducked another wild swing. “Your snake tattoo is really very nice!” At least Jeff had put down the knife, as requested. Where was Rodney? Where the heck was SG-1?

 _Speaking of which, oh thank God._ “Is there a problem?” Teal’c queried in mock concern as he levered Jeff up onto his toes by the straps holding on his pseudo-armor breastplate. Jeff looked up into the Jaffa’s Look of Doom (perfected over many decades as a First Prime of Apophis) and gulped. John made his escape hastily, ducking under the curtain at back of the booth.

***

Well, he’d found Teyla and Rodney again. John’s heart sank. Another really big guy, this one dressed in Star Trek gear like them--like a Vulcan, only the costume was weird. A Romulan, maybe? The big Romulan was dragging Teyla by the arm down the aisle towards the rear of the hall, back where the forklift and the tarps were, out of sight of the convention-goers. Teyla was fighting like mad to get loose, and the guy was literally _dragging_ her as she sank back on her heels to lower her center of gravity. Rodney tried to block the Romulan’s way, only to get a backhand that sent him crashing into a nearby booth.

“Sorry,” the Romulan grinned toothily, obviously not sorry at all, as his eyes flashed Goa’uld gold. His voice was rusty with the Goa’uld overlay as he explained, “The Pon Farr’s kicked in. Me and the Missus have some business to take care of, up in our room.”

“Let go of her!” John let the momentum of his run crash him into the Goa’uld-Romulan, knocking him away from Teyla. The Romulan roared and picked John up with a grip like steel on both his upper arms. John kicked and flailed as he dangled in the other man's hold, feeling like a little kid, equal parts embarrassed and scared out of his mind. Where the _hell_ was SG-1!?

The Romulan roared again, in pain this time, and abruptly dropped John as Teyla, who had found sticks somewhere, beat him about the head and arms, dancing in and out too swiftly for him to grab her. John rolled out of the way and scrambled back to give Teyla room to fight. “Out of the way!” he urged the convention-goers. Again, about half had gone running for Security, and the other half were crowded around watching like it was a big show.

The Romulan guy was grabbing for Teyla again, howling as she used the sticks--which, from their decorations, were not being used for their originally-intended purpose--to knock his reaching arms away. John winced from the memory of how much those sticks could hurt as Teyla delivered another blow. Go, Teyla! John looked for an opening to fire his zat where he wouldn’t accidentally shoot any bystanders.

“Stop right there, you Romulan dog!” shouted Rodney from his perch standing on _top_ of one of the dealers’ tables. “How **dare** you disrupt the Klingon-Federation Peace Talks?” And with perfect panache, Rodney shot the Goa’uld-Romulan with his zat, right there in front of everybody. The pseudo-Romulan dropped, twitching, while the convention attendees clapped and cheered.

***

“That was _so cool_! Can I take your picture?” asked a cute Asian-looking girl with an American accent. She was wearing an outfit from some obscure fandom that John didn’t recognize, but approved of anyway, since it resulted in sexy black leather pants, black boots, and a cropped black top that showed off her navel. A black backpack drooped against one of her boots.

“Of course!” Rodney said grandly, before John could protest. Rodney placed a booted foot on the belly of the unconscious Trust operative, and folded his arms over his chest in a way that concealed the zat under the Klingon sash--proving that he did, after all, have a bare modicum of sense regarding security.

“All of you together, please,” the girl urged, getting her camera ready. Her badge proclaimed her to be “Cyn” and John vaguely recognized her as one of the panelists on that _Fanart in Media Fandoms_ section of the program that he’d planned on attending--before this whole fiasco came about, of course.

John sighed and resignedly shuffled closer to Rodney on one side as Teyla flanked him on the other, both of them hiding their weapons behind their backs. John blinked as the camera flash went off and the first thing he focused on when his vision cleared was Mitchell’s scowling face, just past the photographer. Behind him, Teal’c loomed, arms folded over his chest and frowning in disapproval. Beside them, Carter also looked grim. Jackson was the only one looking cheerful--but in that “they’re gonna get it!” way that boded ill for John and his team.

 _Oh, shit!_ John thought. _There goes the damned vacation!_

  


  


  


***

The next day, the picture of them in all their pseudo-Star Trek glory came out in the _Weekend_ section of the Toronto _Morning Star_. In the following weeks, it made its way around the internet, on various sci-fi fan websites.

General Landry was Not Amused.

All in all, John was glad to be allowed to escape back to Atlantis when the time came. Despite everything, sometimes the Pegasus Galaxy felt like a saner place. Admittedly the Wraith looked like _they_ belonged at a sci-fi convention, but at least _he_ didn’t have to dress up like a Vulcan.

  
###END###

**Author's Note:**

> The _fabulous illustration_ is by [Tardis80](http://tardis80.livejournal.com/)!!!
> 
> Now with [fabulous & hilarious podfic](http://reena-jenkins.livejournal.com/39804.html) by [Reena-jenkins](http://reena-jenkins.livejournal.com/profile)!!!


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